


Pretense in the Air

by tastewithouttalent



Series: When I've Got You [3]
Category: Durarara!!, Soul Eater
Genre: Collars, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Face Punching, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8949619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "'Just try to be nice,' Izaya says as they climb the last few steps to the front of the school. 'Don’t fly into a jealous rage or anything just because he’s my old meister.'" Shizuo meets Izaya's old partner and metes out some measure of justice.





	

“Just try to be nice,” Izaya says as they climb the last few steps to the front of the school. “Don’t fly into a jealous rage or anything just because he’s my old meister.”

Shizuo snorts. “I’m not going to be _jealous_ ,” he informs Izaya. “You were only working together for a few months, weren’t you? And you’re _my_ partner now.” He pauses a step shy of the main courtyard, hesitating to turn a frown on the dark of Izaya’s hair. “ _Should_ I be jealous?”

“Why would you be jealous?” Izaya says airily, continuing up over the last step before he turns to look back down at Shizuo on the stairs below him. The sunlight spilling over the front of the school catches a shine off his hair and picks out flecks of crimson from behind the dark of his eyes; his smile looks like a knife-edge, as if the shape of his weapon form is pressing close against even his human outline to leave its mark on the world. “I didn’t even know you, Shizu-chan, how could I have known I was meant to pine for you?”

“You didn’t need to pine for me,” Shizuo tells him, but he’s stepping up over the last stair anyway, partially to regain the advantage of height and mostly so he can reach out to fit his hand against Izaya’s neck, to press his palm against the reassuring smooth of the black collar that Izaya wears all the time, regardless of setting or formality. Izaya’s lashes dip at the touch of Shizuo’s fingers, his mouth tugs up at the corner into the beginning of a smile, and Shizuo leans in closer to bump his forehead against the dark of Izaya’s hair so he can breathe in against the sun-bright flicker of the other’s mouth. They’re standing at the top of the stairs, in full view of everyone in the school and the latecomers still making their way up the endless steps behind them, and still for a moment Shizuo thinks about leaning in, about tipping his head and shifting in nearer and fitting his lips as close against Izaya’s as the collar under his touch fits against Izaya’s skin.

“No,” Izaya says, so clearly Shizuo is startled for a moment into thinking it’s a rejection of the hazy half-formed intention in his mind, that Izaya is shutting down his thought of a kiss before he’s even moved to act on it. Shizuo draws back, blinking his vision back into focus as he frowns in confusion, and in front of him Izaya’s smile goes wider, his head tips to the side to turn his expression brilliant as a razor’s edge. “Shinra and I friends, Shizu-chan. _Just_ friends.” He lifts his hand to press atop Shizuo’s at his neck, his fingers weighting the other’s touch closer against the line of the collar at his skin; for a moment they’re layered together like that, the pressure of Izaya’s touch pinning Shizuo’s fingers even closer against him than they were before. “You don’t need to be jealous, even irrationally so.”

“Be quiet,” Shizuo tells him, but he can feel his mouth threatening to turn up on a smile, and when Izaya breaks into a laugh his own expression slips free to pull his mouth into a soft curve of affection. Shizuo slides his hand sideways, turning his palm over to catch his fingers with Izaya’s, and when he takes a step forward it’s with Izaya’s hand in his, with the warmth of the other’s fingers fitting against his as surely as the handle of his weapon form does. “Let’s go meet the guy crazy enough to partner with you.”

“He’s not as crazy as you,” Izaya points out, his tone teasing but his steps perfectly obedient to the urging of Shizuo’s hold at his hand. “You _stayed_.”

“Yeah, well, I never said I was particularly smart,” Shizuo says, glancing back over his shoulder to see the way Izaya is smiling at him. It’s easy to smile back, to let the simple pleasure of the other’s attention override his own nervousness at meeting someone new, and when he looks back to the front of the school his self-consciousness has eased enough that his next question sounds very nearly off-hand. “Why _did_ he--”

“There they are,” Izaya says, talking over Shizuo like he isn’t hearing the other’s words as he lifts a hand to gesture towards a pair approaching from some distance away. “They must have been waiting for us.” He’s not looking back to meet Shizuo’s gaze, doesn’t even when he pulls at the other’s hand to urge him forward. Shizuo frowns at the dark of Izaya’s hair, feeling the tension in the other’s fingers in his hold like a trembling tell for Izaya’s strain, but they’re moving forward anyway, and they’re too close to the other two for Shizuo to ask anything with even a suggestion of privacy.

“Hello hello!” one of the two declares as they approach, waving his arm enthusiastically overhead. He’s wearing a white lab coat for reasons Shizuo can’t make a guess at; it makes him look a little like he’s trying to pose as a professor, though the bright youthfulness of his features undermines that attempt before it’s even begun. Shizuo has seen him once or twice before, in some of the meister-specific classes he’s had to sit through, but he’s quieter in class than he appears to be now, as if he’s just storing up his excitement for space outside the classroom. “Kishitani Shinra.” He extends a hand over the distance between them, still grinning bright all over his face; Shizuo has to take a moment to extricate his hand from Izaya’s hold so he can reciprocate the gesture, but Shinra doesn’t so much as bat an eye at this hesitation, just keeps beaming at the other two until Shizuo has offered back the perfunctory handshake the situation demands. “And you’re Shizu-chan!”

Shizuo cuts his eyes sideways to glare at Izaya. “ _Shizuo_. Heiwajima Shizuo.”

“Oh, okay!” Shinra says, his smile and cheer entirely unfazed by Shizuo’s correction. “It’s a pet name, is it?” Shizuo blinks, turning back with some kind of denial on his lips, but Shinra is turning to the figure dressed all in black just over his shoulder without waiting for any kind of a response. “Celty, you should have a pet name for me too!” The other shakes her head sharply, the force of the movement leaving no doubt as to the emotion behind it, and Shinra’s smile collapses into wide-eyed hurt. “Aww, don’t you love me enough?” Another head shake, this one possibly even more aggressive than the first, and Shinra huffs resignation and turns back to Shizuo and Izaya. “This is Celty, my weapon partner and future wife.” He says it so simply it takes Shizuo a moment to make sense of the words; by the time he’s blinking into confusion over it Celty has reached out to shove ungently at the side of Shinra’s head and cut off his speech. Shinra stumbles sideways, reaching up to grab at his hair and chirp bright-voiced protest that sounds as much amused as actually injured, but Celty ignores him entirely in favor of offering her hand to Shizuo as well. Shizuo accepts it without hesitation, aware that he’s on the verge of laughter and not doing a very good job of holding it back, but if Celty is at all offended by his amusement at her meister’s discomfort it doesn’t show in the small bow of acknowledgment she gives Shizuo.

“Me too,” Izaya says suddenly from beside Shizuo, stepping forward to extend his hand as well. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced before. Orihara Izaya.” He curls his fingers in around Celty’s, tipping his head into the sweet smile that Shizuo thinks might feasibly fool someone unfamiliar with him into thinking he’s a completely nonthreatening individual. “Of course everyone knows the famous Celty Sturluson.”

“Did you decide to stop sulking, then?” Shinra asks, straightening without any trace of lingering effect from Celty’s shove. “I was wondering how long you were going to hold out.”

Izaya goes so tense Shizuo can see the shift in his shoulders without even turning his head. “ _What_ ,” he says, his voice rising to a sharp edge of danger in the back of his throat. “I wasn’t _sulking_. I don’t _sulk_.”

“You do,” Shizuo and Shinra say in perfect stereo. The repetition makes Shizuo blink, feeling a little like he’s accidentally betrayed Izaya in some way; but Shinra just laughs, his eyes sparkling with amusement wholly untouched by the tension of the moment.

“You do,” Shinra repeats, looking back to beam at Izaya. “I thought you were never going to agree to meet Celty just out of stubbornness. I told you, it wasn’t her fault I left!”

Shizuo frowns confusion. “What?” He looks down to Izaya next to him, still fixing the full force of a glare at Shinra, and then back to Shinra beaming without any trace of self-consciousness on his features. “What are you talking about?”

“When I broke off our partnership,” Shinra says easily, turning his attention to Shizuo as if he doesn’t feel the dangerous edge of the glare Izaya is fixing on him. “I met Celty in class one day and knew I had to have her, and that was that!”

Shizuo frowns. “I thought you were Izaya’s partner.”

“Oh, I was!” Shinra chirps without any hesitation. “But I knew as soon as I saw Celty that she was the weapon for me. I told Izaya so, too, when he got back from class.”

“Because I _asked_ ,” Izaya says, breaking the words off sharp against his teeth. When Shizuo looks at him his cheeks are colored hot with angry red, his mouth is trembling on the force of some barely-repressed emotion. Shizuo never sees him look like that anymore; it’s like he’s been thrown back in time by months, to the early days when he was as likely to snap an insult as hum amusement in response to Shizuo’s voice. “You would have just left if I had so much as stopped for dinner on the way home, I would have come back to an empty apartment.”

Shinra laughs again, as if Izaya is joking, or as if he doesn’t hear the strain of hurt still sharp enough to cut even with months to dull the edge of it. “Well, of course! I had to act right away, Celty was going to be in very high demand.”

Shizuo looks away from the tension along Izaya’s jaw and the set lines of emotion in his face, back up to the innocent happiness painted clear all across Shinra’s. There’s no trace of guilt anywhere in the other’s expression, no indication of stress at the easy curve of his mouth or behind the casual bright of his eyes.

“Wait,” he says, pulling the word slow to buy himself time to turn over the evidence and make sure he has the details clear in his mind. “You just _left_ your partner? Just like that?”

“Hm?” Shinra blinks back into focus on Shizuo’s face. “Sure. I found a better weapon for myself, it’s only made sense to change partners at that point. It turned out alright in the end anyway!”

“You didn’t know it was going to be better,” Shizuo growls.

“Yes I did!” Shinra chirps. “It was love at first sight, of course Celty was going to be a better weapon partner for me!”

Shizuo can feel his chest tighten sharply, can feel the pressure rush the air from his lungs in a disbelieving huff. It’s hard to find voice for words, harder still to find coherency to shape around the rising tide of anger in his chest. “I was talking about _Izaya_.”

“Izaya’s his own person,” Shinra informs him, bright and warm with the self-assurance of his own innocence. “I made the best decision for me. Everything turned out fine in the end!”

“ _Turned out fine_ ,” Shizuo repeats. In his head he can see the hunched shoulders and pulled-up knees of an unmatched weapon in the corner of a busy classroom, can remember the vicious cut of brilliant eyes and a too-quick tongue ready to tear apart the illusion of trust before it had ever fully formed. He can call up months of effort, of frustration, of Izaya flinching back from every expression of affection as if it was a mortal blow, of Izaya recoiling from any hint of intimacy like it was poison bitter on his tongue, and all because Shinra… “You _abandoned_ your partner?”

Shinra laughs again. “I didn’t--”

“You did,” Shizuo tells him. He wants to take a step in closer, wants to loom over Shinra with the whole pressure of his height to underscore his point, wants to step sideways to fit his shoulder between Izaya staring up at him and the careless cruelty of Shinra’s uncomprehending laughter. “You agreed to partner together and then you just dropped him like he didn’t even matter.”

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, and he’s reaching out, his fingers are closing hard around Shizuo’s arm. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It _does_ matter,” Shizuo snaps, looking back to Izaya staring up at him. Izaya’s jaw is set, his eyes soft; against the weight of Shizuo’s collar his throat is tense, like he’s fighting back words well beyond what he’s setting free past the wall of his teeth. “ _You_ matter.”

“This is pointless,” Shinra declares. Shizuo turns back to glare at him only to be met, again, with that cheerfully unaware smile. “Can’t we sort this out with a fistfight or something and then get on with being friends?”

“Yeah,” Shizuo growls. “I really _would_ like to punch you.”

He’s not thinking about the words. They’re just simple truth, a basic statement of fact he doesn’t have to work through in his head; the emotion is direct, something coming straight from the pressure of anger in his chest to coherency. It’s an offhand wish, the kind of thing said without any expectation of actually achieving it; which means that when Shinra blinks up at him from behind his glasses and says “Sure, if that’ll make you feel better!” Shizuo is left gaping blank shock at the other. For a moment even his anger gives way, overridden entirely by the force of the surprise running through him; he can’t get a grasp on the sincerity in Shinra’s expression, can’t make sense of the other’s cheerful expression set against the meaning of the words he just spoke.

“What?” Shizuo finally manages, struggling back into his own voice from the confusion that Shinra’s words brought.

“You can punch me!” Shinra tells him, as brightly as if he’s telling Shizuo he can buy him lunch. “I’m not much for fighting, myself, but if you think it’ll help, by all means go ahead!”

Izaya clears his throat. “You sure about that?” He sounds far less strained than he did a moment ago; when Shizuo glances at him there’s a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, the edge of amusement tensing against his lips. “You _do_ know Shizu-chan once took out a Kishin with just his bare hands, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Shinra says. “The whole school knows from how much you were bragging about it.” Izaya’s smile flickers, his cheeks flush into pink, and Shizuo would _really_ like to hear more about this but Shinra is reaching to pull his glasses off and put them away in his pocket, and his attention is held by the apparent sincerity of the other’s offer. “I probably deserve some kind of punishment, anyway. Don’t you think, Celty?” He turns to look to his weapon partner, who is standing with her arms folded and no trace of sympathy anywhere in the line of her stance.

“Oh boy,” Shinra says, and looks back to Shizuo. “You’d better do it, I don’t think Celty will forgive me otherwise. Give me your worst and maybe seeing my injured form will be enough to restore her sympathy for me before she decides to leave me.” He sounds perfectly blasé about this too; Shizuo wonders for a moment if he’s being teased after all, but Shinra is backing away towards the clear space at the front of the school, and when he turns around to spread his arms out in open invitation he looks as absolutely sincere as he sounds. “When you’re ready!”

Shizuo stares at the other meister for a moment. There’s still that anger like a hard knot inside his chest, like it’s bearing down on his breathing to catch it taut around the edge of irritation; but uncertainty is fighting for headway as strongly, overriding his action for a moment. He looks to Celty; but she’s turned in towards her meister, arms crossed and shoulders tense on judgment so strong Shizuo can all but hear the shout of words without needing to hear them individually. Shinra is still standing on the other side of the entrance, beaming unnecessary cheer at him; and then Shizuo finally turns his head, and looks down to Izaya next to him.

Izaya’s not looking at Shinra. His cheeks are still flushed with the fading emotion of that brief conversation, his eyes still dark behind the shadow of his lashes; but he’s looking up at Shizuo, now, and he’s smiling, the very corner of his mouth tugging up as if to match lopsided amusement to the slight angle of his head as he gazes at the other.

“You’re not going to stop me?” Shizuo asks.

Izaya lifts his shoulder up in an elegant shrug. “He’s asking for it,” he says, and with a glance Shinra’s way: “literally, actually” as his smile tugs wider for a moment, as his fingers ease their hold on Shizuo’s arm and fall away. “I’m looking forward to it, honestly.”

Shizuo snorts. “Sadist,” he says, and Izaya cuts his gaze back up without trying to deny it, the spread of his smile over his lips rather confirming the claim than otherwise. Shizuo huffs not-quite-a-laugh of his own, amusement turning to the warmth of affection in his chest; and then he turns back and steps forward into the space between Izaya and Shinra.

“You’re a horrible person,” he says as he draws nearer, as he curls his fingers in against his palm and flexes his grip to settle it to steadiness. “You know that, right?”

Shinra laughs again. “Oh, yeah, probably,” he says without a trace of hesitation. “If it’s enough to win me Celty’s heart, I’d be willing to betray anyone at all!”

“That’s wrong,” Shizuo tells him, feeling vaguely as if he’s speaking to a child too young to have grasped the difference between wrong and right, between _what I want_ and _what I should_. Maybe he is, in a way. “You have a responsibility to people who trust in you.”

Shinra shrugs. “Maybe,” he says. “I don’t really care about that.”

Shizuo heaves a sigh. “Yeah,” he says, “I see that” and he steps in and swings as part of the same movement, in a single fluid motion that brings the weight of his fist snapping up from his side and around to Shinra’s face. There’s a moment before the impact, when Shinra is looking straight at Shizuo with a faint smile at his lips and his gaze wide and unflinching; and then Shizuo’s knuckles slam into the side of the other’s face, and Shinra is knocked clear off his feet, skidding over the smooth surface at the front of the school and nearly to the long line of stairs leading down to the city before his slide of movement draws to a halt. Shizuo straightens over his feet again, letting his grip fall out of the tension of a fist as he shakes his hand out at his side.

“You don’t deserve your partner,” he calls, pitching his voice loud so it will carry clearly to where Shinra is just starting to push himself back to upright, pressing a hand to the rising bruise at his face as he fumbles for his glasses. Celty is crossing the entrance towards him, her stoic remove abandoned at this evidence of actual hurt, but Shinra is smiling well before she drops to kneel alongside him, turning his head up with obvious appreciation of the fretful concern in the press of her fingers to his face. “But I hope you’re happy together anyway.”

“Mm,” comes a voice from over Shizuo’s shoulder. Shizuo glances back; he doesn’t need to turn all the way around to know it’s Izaya standing just behind him, hands in his pockets and head tipped on a smirk. His eyes are catching the light to sparkling brightness, flecks of crimson flickering behind the shadows of his lashes like they’re beckoning Shizuo closer. “You’re a lot more generous than I thought you would be.”

Shizuo shrugs. “He’s not so bad,” he says, and he does turn, then, shifting to face Izaya so he can reach for the other’s wrist, so he can settle his hold close against the rhythm of the other’s heartbeat thrumming under his skin. “At least he knows what he wants.”

Izaya’s eyelashes flutter, Izaya’s head tips up. “And you like that in people?”

“Yeah,” Shizuo says. His other hand comes up, his fingers settle against the line of the collar against Izaya’s throat; Izaya angles his head to the side, like he’s making an offering of his pulse for Shizuo’s fingers. Shizuo can feel the strain of anger fading from his veins, can feel his touch going gentle like Izaya’s skin is melting the tension out of him. “I respect people who ask for what they want.”

“Mm,” Izaya hums, fluttering his lashes until Shizuo can barely see his eyes at all. “Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo can see where this is going, can feel his mouth tightening on a smile. “Yeah?”

Izaya shuts his eyes, turning his head up under the weight of Shizuo’s hand at his neck. “Please kiss me.”

He makes the words sound sarcastic, makes the plea on his tongue sound more like a command than a request. It makes Shizuo huff a laugh, hearing the sound go rough in his throat even as he leans in to press his mouth to the expectant part of Izaya’s lips in the sunlight.

With his fingers tingling with the satisfaction of that punch and his lips warm against Izaya’s mouth, Shizuo thinks he might even be able to end up liking Shinra.

He’s right, after all. Izaya _did_ end up with a better meister.


End file.
